The Boy who Cried Wolf
by Count Peculiar
Summary: This story is set as and alternative plot in MCU's Spiderman Homecoming. Peter tried to tell Tony about the criminals, but end up having to take care of this himself. He wounds up hurt, and Tony feels guilty as hell.
1. Tony: Chapter 1

_Part 1: Tony_

Silence at last.

For days now, Tony had been getting non-stop calls from everyone's favourite neighbourhood Spiderman: Peter.

 _Call whenever you need me, okay?_

Fair point, he _had_ told him to call. But this wasn't what he'd meant. Peter had been meant to call him in case of emergency, or when he'd notice things _way_ out of the ordinary. As much as he _loved_ getting woken up at 4am a minimum of three times a week, Mr. Billionaire had eventually grown tired of the attention. Muting Peter's calls had seemed like a relatively mild sentence, and a straight-forward solution to his harassment problem. Karen would alert F.R.I.D.A.Y. in case of emergency, and he needed some beauty rest. Sue him.

Damn, did this kid ever sleep?

Of course, he hadn't completely tuned the boy out; his voicemail played on low volume in his car every morning - generously forced upon him by none other than Pepper Potts, by the way - so that he couldn't possibly miss any messages. Peter had a tendency to over-exaggerate things, often calling in to report an alien super-villain, only to call again later with the vague explanation that it actually turned out to be nothing more than a regular civilian with a severely misshapen head. Tony would never actually admit this publicly, but he always listened to his messages, often before Pepper's obnoxious car-triggered voicemail masterplan would force him to. This time, the youngster had been going on about some ridiculous theory involving neo-nazis crossed with terroristic mafia wannabes supposedly stashing up on weaponry of mass destruction. The kid wouldn't let it go, even after Tony called him about it.

Tony: _I looked into it, kid. It's nothing, probably just undercover military work. Let it go._

Peter: _But Mister Stark! I swear it's more than that!_

Tony: _Go back to your night patrols, kiddo. And don't tell me about this again._

Tony really had looked into it, briefly. He'd sent two of his most discrete men to check it out, but they'd come back with about as much as he was expecting. Nothing. There was no reason to push further investigation and Mr. Multi-Million had already debunked this whole thing as just another trick of Peter's infamous imagination. This boy was an amazing ally, and he'd always consider him a valuable partner against crime… When the threat was real.

It was barely eleven in the morning and Tony was feeling pretty damn _great._ He'd slept well, Parker seemed to have caught the hint and finally left him alone.  
 _Maybe he's finally realised it was nothing.  
_ The thought made him smile. Oh, Peter. Poor child must be feeling so embarrassed to have pushed so much for something that turned out to be… Nothing at all. Not that Tony would bring it up… Who is he kidding? Of course he would. He could already see himself nagging him about it for the rest of the week.  
He sat in his office, feet resting up onto his ebony wood desk with a type of carelessness that would give anyone's furniture-police grandmother a heart attack. The creme-cheese bagel he'd asked Pepper to pick up for him earlier was laying comfortably onto his lap, separated from his black dress pants only by a thin sheet of glossed paper. His light grey button-up was halfway undone, showing a white tank top underneath it.  
To call his office 'nice' would be the understatement of the century. Grandiose, majestic even, was a far closer match to the truth. The windows almost covered the walls completely, letting in a soft ray of natural light. The cloudiness of the sky muted the harsh sunlight to a kind glow, caressing everything in the room. What was most impressive in the room was the ginormous bookshelf made of dark woods and glass. What was it about glass that made things look so.. classy? Tony probably hadn't read any of the books on those shelves, but definitely had designed every one of the mini prototypes that laid here and there beside them.

Stark had barely noticed the television playing in the background, the sound had been turned down to a mere hush, and had ultimately been easily drowned out by Tony's serene thread of thoughts.

The serenity was short-lived, unfortunately. The news lady had been rambling on about some sort of explosion. A crash? Car crash, maybe? Tony had missed too much to know, but he knew she would repeat herself eventually. They always did. News people had this annoying tendency to act like a broken record. Tony looked up at the flat screen that hung in the top corner of his office, leaning forward slightly as he abandoned what was left of his breakfast into the trashcan next to his desk. His forehead creased itself with worry lines, but why was he so suddenly overcome with anxiety? The news never had anything positive to show, this was literally a daily occurrence… Or was it? The fast drumming of his heart told him otherwise, he definitely had a bad feeling about this one. His gut twisted into knots only an experimented marine could even dream to replicate. When the news lady finally summarized the situation once more, he was at the very edge of his seat. Ripples had formed into his spotless clothing, giving it the look of a stormy sea. This matched Tony's own emotions perfectly; crushed with an unexpected riptide of nervousness.

 _Complete wreck…_

 _Train derailed, containing immense amounts of illegal weapons…_

 _Suspected terrorist group…_

 ** _No survivors._**

The screen switched to a clumsy video that had been filmed by a civilian by-stander. The phone-quality recording wasn't great, but it showed enough for him to understand the intensity of the situation. Fire, raging everywhere. Bits and pieces of train scattered around, barely able to determine what was where through the thick dark smoke. In the middle of all this stood an unnaturally untouched piece of paper.  
A note.

Tony had been watching so profoundly that he hadn't heard the few words that resonated through the compound speakers until F.R.I.D.A.Y. repeated herself.

" ** _Sir, Mr. Parker was found unconscious and is being transported to MedBay as we speak."_**

Halfway through the sentence, Tony was up, had grabbed his jacket and ordered for Happy to be called.

"Tell him to pull up the car _now._ "

Tony must have gone down the stairs pretty fast, because he couldn't remember how he even made it to the front door. If he'd broken a number of things in his hurry, he didn't care. His mind couldn't go to anything other than the _agonizing_ worry of whether Peter was all right… Or alive, really.


	2. Peter: Chapter 2

_\- Peter POV -_

Peter Parker - Spiderman, famed New York City vigilante — sucked at following orders. Big time. In fact, he seemed to have made it a personal goal to go against anything Tony ever tells him to do. To be fair, he doesn't obey anyone more than he does Tony. May Parker could list out every single time the boy did exactly the oposite of what had been asked of him, but such a list would take roughly four lifetimes to write up, as he would obviously be breaking more rules as she would be doing so. Even before the bite, the kid simply didn't fit into the manufactured mold that society expected him to wiggle into. Was it a bad thing? He liked to believe it wasn't.

Tony: _Go back to your night patrols, kiddo. And don't tell me about this again._

What was it that constantly drove adults to ignore anything brought to their attention by a minor? Peter knew he was right! He was certain. Something was going on, something far bigger than the usual muggings or car thefts he had taken upon himself to stop. And he had proof of every shape and colour, if only Mr. Million just took two seconds out of his busy day to pay attention to what he had to say. People were in danger! If Iron Man wasn't going to do anything about it, Spiderman would.

Peter: _Fine._

Peter disconnected the call and threw his phone onto the twin bed that took up a good portion of his small apartment bedroom. Tony doesn't want to hear about it? Fine, no problem. He didn't need him anyway. How was it fair, seriously? Tony dragged him across the ocean to fight a battle that wasn't even his to begin with and now that he needs him, he gets shut down? No biggie. He'd find the time to be pissed off about it later but now, he had to focus on the problem: Tony's ever so annoying monitoring protocols. All he needed to do was cut the connection between F. R. I. D. A. Y. and Karen, so that his mentor wouldn't be alerted (again) of his disobedience. At least, not until the deed was done. He would allow Karen to contact Mr. Stark once he knew the people were safe, and that the attackers were taken care of. Peter was well aware of the tracker in his suit, seeing as Tony always knew where to find him whenever he would be wearing the extremely valuable suit he had been gifted. But that was an easy fix for anyone who possessed even just a portion of Peter Parker's intellect. Hacking into the suit without triggering any alarms would take some time though, and that was the one thing the youngster had none of. Thankfully, that was another easy fix. He needed help, clearly. And he needed none other than Ned.  
Peter stopped pacing back and forth and sat down at the edge of his bed, fishing his phone from between the sheets where it had landed, instantly drumming the password in. It was late, but hopefully Ned would at least be woken up by the buzzing of the phone Peter knew from experience would be laying on the bedside table. He opened the texting app and typed about as fast as his fingers allowed him to.

 **00:10 me:** Hey, u up?

 **00:12 me:** Ned get up man

 **00:13 me:** I need my guy in the chair

 **00:14 me:** its important!

 **00:16 Guy in Chair:** Pete it's like midnight

Peter sighed in relief as he read his friend's text, sitting up against the wall that his bed was pressed into as he wasted no time replying.

 **00:17 me:** I know man sneak over here and I'll get Mr Stark to let you in on the next avengers party

 **00:17 Guy in Chair:** wat

 **00:18 Guy in Chair:** b there in 10

Peter grinned and let himself fall back onto the bed. He could always trust Ned, no matter what. Sometimes he feared he might be asking too much, even. With the recent events and Ned finding out about his alter-ego, you would think the kid would need a bit to think things through… But no. Not only did he agree to keep the secret, but he also wanted to _help._ Peter couldn't score higher in the best friend lottery; Ned was the absolute jackpot. Still though, how were they going to stop those villains? They were nothing but two underaged boys, against a dozen terrorists. Peter had overheard one of them speak of a train of some sort, an under-the-radar transportation system to get the 'goods' out of the city. He had to stop them before they got too far out of reach… Or it may be too late. The familiar buzz of his phone pulled him out of his discouraging thread of thought, causing his forehead to crease into a frown. Had it been ten minutes already? The youngster sat up slowly, pulling the screen up towards himself. Sure enough, the message was simply meant to alert him of his friend's arrival.  
Hopping off of his bed, Peter made his way over to the front door to let Ned in. May was gone for the weekend, working upstate for… Whoever she'd said she was working for. Peter's attention span wasn't all that great, remembering details from an older conversation laid on the verge of impossible.

"Hey, come in. May isn't home," he stepped aside and smiled, kind of excited about the whole thing "So you don't gotta take your shoes off." But out of respect and force of habit, the boy end up taking them off anyway. On their way back to the bedroom, Peter filled Ned in with whatever information he had on the situation, which wasn't much. He knew where to go and what he intended to do… but the lil' bit in the middle — yeah the one about what he would actually be doing — was to be filled in as he goes. Of course, he left out the whole thing about Tony looking into it and coming back empty-handed. He didn't need another person telling him he was imagining things. Because if he knew anything about anything; he wasn't imagining this one.

"We gotta hack into the suit. You in?"

Peter gave his friend an expectant look, pressing his lips into a fine line. He really needed him, without his help he might as well tuck himself into bed and let the world collapse under the imminent threats. This was not a one-man job.

"So I get to piss off Tony Stark and help Spiderman save lives, at the same time? Does that even balance out?" The sleepy teen ran a hand through his hair and chuckled nervously, looking down at the red-and-blue suit that laid across the surface of Peter's messy bed.

"Come on, bud… please?" Peter sat besides the suit, laying a hand across the logo that rested in the middle of its chest area. The brunette exhaled audibly through his nose, not having even considered the possibility of having this favour be refused. It was a big one, yes… But maybe not _too_ big?

"Oh, I'll do it. You just better get me a private meet and greet with Captain America after this." At his own words, the highschooler's eyes widened. "Wait, could you _do_ that?"

Of course, that would be his first thought. Gotta love him. They're about to hack into a multi-million suit against the strict orders of a billionaire (former weapon supplier at that,) but worrying about meeting America's sweetheart came before all else.

The two sat on the floor of the empty apartment, going on about the most recent spoilers of the next Star Wars movie as steady hands worked skillfully on the fine wiring of the suit's systems. This was just a regular Friday night (unusually late Friday night) for the pair, and their rambling did not stray from the nerdy subject at all throughout the whole process. The locked bedroom door was the only proof that anything out-of-the-ordinary was going on. Why was it even locked? Maybe, subconsciously, Peter had this weird fear that Tony would somehow know and come barging in. Wouldn't be the first time.

"I think this'll work."

Those were the words Peter wanted to hear. This would _have_ to work. The people of New York counted on Spiderman to protect them, and he wasn't about to disappoint them. Time finally came and he had to fight hard against his urge to give himself a pep-talk in the mirror. Ned might know him better than anyone, he still wasn't about to show him about just how weird he can get. Normally, the mirror would involuntarily participate in one of his many sessions of the '20 questions' game, potentially holding May's hairbrush as a microphone. Hey, a kid's gotta prepare for the press! Who knows, maybe he would be caught in the middle of one of his heroic acts and have to explain himself to the fans and media. Anyway… Peter gave his suit a quick test, making sure everything still worked as good as it did before. Thankfully, they didn't break anything important… that he knew of. After some short goodbyes and a quick slip into the suit, he was out and on his way.

"Here goes nothing."


	3. Peter: Chapter 3

_\- Peter POV -_

The wind blew hard that night, which played against Peter's speed. Of course, even mother nature would have something against him getting where he needed to go. Maybe she worked for Tony…? The man could probably afford to hire her, honestly, and with all that's been going on lately; Peter wouldn't even be surprised. After what seemed like an eternity, the boy reached the far left end of the city. The train tracks weren't very far from where he'd landed, but since the men were transporting illegal cargo, he had a feeling they'd be somewhere further down.

04:37. He really needed to hurry. 3 hours to hack, 40 minutes to find the tracks…

"I have to work on my speed. Karen, you got anything for me?"

 _ **There are woods surrounding the tracks on your right, Peter. Perhaps a good place to start looking.**_

Karen was always such a good help; what ever would he do without her? In Peter's eyes, the AI was more of a friend than a machine. He often forgot that she wasn't an actual person… After all, she knew him better than most. "Thanks girl, keep me updated on heat signatures okay?"  
Unfortunately, there was nothing for him to swing from anymore, which meant he'd need to run. Dropping down, Peter stepped between the two metal slabs of said tracks and ran down the middle, careful not to trip over old wooden slabs that stuck out just enough to be in the way. Of course, nothing compared to the feeling of freedom that came to him through swinging from web to web, but the speed of his running still felt quite nice. He grinned to himself, almost forgetting the seriousness of the situation. One day, he'd love to find a field and see about just how fast he could run. Maybe May would time him? If she ever found out about his alter-ego, that is. He wished he could tell her, be as open about it as he wanted… But the knowledge could potentially endanger her, and he wasn't willing to risk that. She was technically his mother, and since the death of Ben, she was also sort of his dad. Did that make sense? Of course she wasn't _actually_ a man and a woman at once, it just felt as though she had taken on both roles over the years. Being his only living relative, she was the most obvious target to any villain who'd like to ruin a spiderling's life. Peter's mind would have probably ventured deeper into the unsettling thoughts if it wasn't for the sight of a train appearing suddenly in the distance. To be safe, he abandoned the comfort of even ground and adopted a far trickier run through the left side of the woods Karen had mentioned earlier. The train wasn't moving, was that normal? It _was_ the middle of the night, maybe the men had stopped for a nighttime break.

 _ **I sense seven distinct heat signatures. Heavily armed: three middle-aged males, two middle-aged females and two younger men. Should I call for backup, Peter?**_

 __Crouching behind a tree, the teen had already locked his eyes on one of them. Probably one of the younger men, seeing as he looked kind of slim and… uneasy? The guy paced back and forth between the motionless train and the woods. Maybe he was thinking of backing out? Peter bit his lip and pushed away any form of doubt, banishing them into the depths of his hyperactive brain. Can't let any of them go. He had to get them all; deliver them all to the police.  
"No, I'm fine." His voice had been nothing but a whisper, but that was all that Karen needed. Of course, Peter hadn't been so foolish as to deactivate Karen's ability to contact others, just her ability to do it without his consent. If things went wrong enough, he could still call for help. In all honesty though… he had no intention of doing so. Tony thinks he's a kid, thinks he needs protection and watching over… Well he was about to prove him wrong. He could already imagine the look of complete surprise when he'd find out what this 'kid' was able to do on his own.

Peter swung closer to the main wagon, staying close to the ground. He wasn't too fond of navigating though woods, simply because tree branches were never certain to offer the steadiness needed to support his weight. Another reason might be that he wasn't a big fan of Tarzan, and doing this undoubtedly made him look like his younger, smaller North-American cousin. The criminals must have all been aboard the locomotive, because he couldn't see any other. Karen mentioned seven, but he could only physically detect one… Well, might as well take care of that one first. With another quick play of webs, the youngster made his way back to the singled-out miscreant. Surely enough, he was still going at the incessant pacing.

"Behind you!" Peter yelped, only loud enough for the man to hear as he didn't want to alert the others, but also to keep a bit of a creep-factor. Hey! Who said this couldn't be fun? Mr. not-so-sure-about-this whipped his head around to face the owner of the voice, only to be greeted by a whack to the head. As the body fell limp onto the ground, Peter grinned behind his mask. This had been so easy. Maybe his plan didn't need to make sense, maybe he could just wing this one.

"I'm getting so good at this, Karen!" He chirped, giving it a small bounce of joy on his tippy-toes.

Getting the man hidden behind a tree was a breeze. With his superhuman strength, Peter barely had to put any effort into it and simply webbed him to the tree. One down, six to go. Although that thought was somewhat absolutely 110% terrifying, he knew he was too far in to back out now. Either way, Tony would find out about the hacking and take the suit away. Maybe, just maybe, if he took care of this… He could save his own butt from the fire. Of course, he would easily go back to patrolling in his 'onesie' (as Tony calls it), but if he could find a way to keep this one, he would. He looked far too good in it to let it go. Okay maybe he didn't look as good as-… You know what? Lets just leave this at that, before it gets weird.  
He was brought back to reality by the deep growl of the train's engine as it prepared to depart and a deep (manly?) voice calling out to a certain 'Isaac', telling him to 'get his ass on board' and revealing the departure time to be approximately 3 minutes from then. With a quick glance towards the unconscious man he now assumed to be Isaac, Peter took off towards the train. 3 minutes… That's how long he had to get this done, or at least, how long he wanted to take. He had no idea how to stop a train, so he couldn't help but hope to be able to stop this madness _before_ it took off.

Slipping in through a half-open window of the second last passenger wagon, Peter was taken aback by the sight of just how much weaponry was aboard. Every seat of every row bore a case of some sort, heavy with their obvious relation to the business of concealing and protecting military-grade weapons. The ammo belts had been sickeningly hung across the back of those same seats, like some sort of messed up Christmas tree. Crates of grenades, bombs, and various explosives laid inconveniently in the middle of the passageway… simply because there was no other room for them. The overhead bins were crammed with all of the materials necessary for one of the most vicious bomb out there: the nail bomb. Not only was it far too easy to make, it was considerably the evil incarnate's weapon of choice. Those were meant to kill masses without aim, harm (those who didn't die) beyond repair and ruin any chance of escape. The nails would go straight through the closest of bodies and empale themselves into those who were 'fortunate' enough to be further away. Peter actually needed to lean, holding on to the closest seat, as he tried to settle the sickness that was born at the pit of his stomach. How could anyone be so cruel? How many people were those things meant to kill? It seemed enough to take a whole city down… He needed to stop this. If he wasn't completely certain before, he was now. With a newfound determination, Peter carefully made his way through the many cabins from hell, heading towards what he assumed to be the locomotive.

Since nothing had gone wrong so far, things just had to take an uncomfortable turn now. In a perfect world, all six of the sickos would be in the engine room, and Peter would sass them into surrendering, tie them up, and call Tony over for pickup. He'd be the hero of New York, appearing on the news as the newest addition to the Avengers. No one would ever doubt of his ability to take care of things again, and they would _finally_ stop seeing him as a fragile child. But that optimistic vision was quickly crossed off the timeline by the sharp whistle of a masked man (woman?) behind him.

"Hey! Stop right there!"

Definitely a woman. One with lungs of steel, by the sound of it. Peter's enhanced hearing suffered greatly, and he had to fight against his instinctive desire to cover his ears — or rip them out. The criminal, stereotypically enough, wore all black clothing, covering every single inch of skin. She even went as far was rocking the ol' ski-mask. Seriously, how obvious does one criminal have to be? Peter turned towards the newfound hoodlum, raising his hands slightly in front of himself, with the palms facing her way. He didn't want to upset the owner of the massive gun that laid between those chubby gloved hands.

"Oh, hi! Erm, I was just-… Looking for the bathroom. Obviously wrong cabin. Silly me, probably walked right past it." His voice shook slightly, laced with a humour that didn't belong. He didn't actually expect the woman to _believe_ him, but maybe the confusion could buy him some time. And it did.

The villainous woman turned her head away, as if directing her voice over her shoulder. "Walter! We got compan—"  
Peter couldn't simply allow her to call for backup, obviously, so he quickly shot a web at the firearm and whipped it upwards before she would get any more words out. The hit was so sudden and (honestly) far stronger than intended, which resulted in the easy knockout of Ms. Stereotype. As quick as the movement had been, this 'Walter' person had already been alerted. The train suddenly jerked forward as it resumed its way down the tracks. Had it already been 3 minutes? Before he could ask Karen about it, three more terrorists came bursting though the cabin doors. They all had about as much sense as the previous when it came to disguise; they had none. Seriously, were they new at this or something?

Peter took this as his cue to get the hell out of there, swiftly swinging himself outside trough the nearest window. He climbed to the top of the wagon and ran across the roof, trying to make it to the engine room before they could try to stop him. A fight was about to break out, and he certainly didn't want a rogue, uncontrolled train on his hands once he'd taken them all out. The sound of shots being fired informed him that his rivals made it to the roof. Maybe they weren't as new to this as they looked. The train was already picking up speed, was it normal? Trains aren't this fast normally, are they? He had no time to think about it, ducking to avoid bullets as he came upon what looked suspiciously like an engine room. He slid off of the roof and forced his way in through the locked door with a nicely placed kick. This reminded him far too much of his time on the Washington Monument. Except this time, no one's life depended on his ability to break through a window… right? He broke through, crashing inside far less than gracefully.

"Ow, ow, ow…" he hissed, pulling himself up only to realise that he was standing a few feet away from a very smug-looking man. The grungy male stood besides the commands, arms folded across his chest as though there was nothing to worry about. The dirty cap that rested atop his oily hair gave him the looks of an actual train driver. At least he had enough sense not to dress up as a shadow like the others did.

"Spiderling, what a pleasure. Had a feeling you were the cause of all this commotion. Mind you, this is quite an awkward timing for me." The guy, probably Walter, pulled out a cigar and lighter. He was acting far too casual, which almost pissed Peter off. This dude is carrying enough ammo to destroy a small world and he's here enjoying a cigar? What?

"Yeah? Well, I'm sorry about that! Surrender now and maybe you won't serve as much time in prison or… something." The teen winced at his own lack of professionalism. Maybe he should have looked into what heroes actually say when they catch the bad guys… Or at least what they _don't_ say.  
The man's chuckle made a blush redder than red creep over the teenager's cheeks, although covered by his mask. His embarrassment must have been visible in his body language because Walter (lets just assume this is Walter) gave him an almost apologetic smirk. "Ah, boy, calm down. I'll be nice and kill you quickly. You won't even feel it." And as he said those words, Peter watched the handgun be unstrapped from his hips.

Everything after that is kind of a blur. The door slammed open, or something along the lines of *CREAK* and *BAM* which was followed by a couple of dark figures armed to the teeth. Peter remembers jumping/pouncing at the Walter guy and smacking the gun out of his hands. He hadn't really been thinking about his feet, kicking around as he tried to neutralise the taller being at the same time as avoiding getting shot to death by the twin shadow creatures that had just joined the party. He felt a rough mass under his foot and kicked it, which was followed by an unpleasant metallic sound and a widening of everyone's eyes. Wait. Why was the scenery passing by faster now? Shit-

"Idiot! Kill him!" Walter barked, throwing the confused Spider-boy off to the side and turning to the command board.

Peter hurried out of the cabin and onto the roof once more, taking a second to realise what was happening. Whatever he'd done, it made the whole thing run faster towards… a fork in the rails? That's all right, those things are automatic, right? Except maybe no; this railroad _was_ sort of abandoned. Or at least, severely underused. The train wasn't sowing any sign of turning either way… He had no other choice, he needed to leave before this thing derailed. Peter looked down towards the window the men were trying to climb out of, eyes wider than ever. With the amount of unstable substances aboard, and the explosives seen earlier… This had no chance of not blowing up.

"H-Hey we g-… we gotta get off this thing guys! Grab my ha-" Peter stood near the edge with his hand extended towards the closest terrorist, but his words died at the back of his throat as he noticed the gun pointed at him. Apparently, they either had no understanding of the situation, or they just didn't care. Killing Spiderman was somehow more important than… life? An awful turbulence knocked over the gun wielding jerk, giving the 15 year old just enough time to jump off. Landing seriously wasn't too pleasant, even with a good sideways roll to break the fall. Peter yelped and held his painful ankle, which had quite the unnatural angle.  
He barely made it 30 yards when it happened. As predicted, the train end up going straight through the middle of the fork, being too fast turn either way. The sudden absence of rails to keep it going had the whole thing fall to the side in an awful crash. The teen looked back, hoping to maybe collect the survivors… Sadly, fate had another idea. The weapon-packed wagons joined the reunion, colliding with the others in a terrifying manner. Everything went off, exploding allover the place in a way that would make apocalyptic movies special-effect specialists jealous.

There was very little to remember, truly. Peter was sent flying forward by the force of the blow. The adrenaline in his veins kept him conscious long enough for him to drag himself back on site so he could look for signs of life. Maybe the younger man, Isaac, survived? He was webbed pretty far away from there… A quick look around shattered his hopes; the woods were caught in a raging fire, and pieces of the train were now hundreds of yards away from their intended position. He wasn't certain how he was even alive himself. Guilt-driven, he left a note for Tony to find and stumbled as far away from the wreckage as possible.

How far did he make it? Peter had no idea. Eventually, the world went dark, and the boy collapsed beneath a dawning sky.


	4. Tony: Chapter 4

\- _Tony POV -_

If hell is a real place, Tony had a feeling it was located somewhere on a busy New York street during rush hour. The devil probably viewed traffic as his personal sport, watching it every Sunday afternoon on live TV with a steaming hot platter of spicy chicken wings and a pitcher of beer. It took them a very long 20 minutes to reach the compound, and another 5 agonising minutes to get access to the medbay — ridiculous seeing as Tony _owns_ the damn thing.

Tony stormed in, pushing a nurse out of the way as he tried to reach the stretcher that held the damned teenager who had yet again disobeyed his orders to stay put. Sometimes it was a wonder how the kid even survived as long as he did, with the amount of times he got himself in trouble. Truth be told; Stark felt guilty. He hadn't actually taken Peter seriously, and now the boy was hurt, potentially dying. No. _No._ Peter was going to be fine. There was no other option. Tony refused to even consider the possibility of anything other than Peter being all right as the outcome of this whole situation.

"Get out of my way if you value your job, I own this place and I'll do what I want now tell me how is _my_ kid!" The billionaire snapped, following closely as they carried the unconscious vigilante to the emergency room. The sight was nothing short of disgusting: air mask, neck brace, bruises, blood— whose blood was that? Better not be his… there was so much, and if it was then it would make Tony's mistake all the more unbearable. The more he looked at the boy, the more he saw proof that it in fact _was_ his blood. Peter had scratches on his cheeks, most probably from the train having blown up near him, as well as— were those nails? Tony's eyes widened in horror as he realised what the little metallic bits poking out of the teen's body were; those disgusting pigs had nailbombs. Tony could throw up. Anger and hatred grew at the pit of his stomach and he let himself be pushed back as the nurses rushed Peter through the doors that limited access from visitors. Ripping his sunglasses off, Tony pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his jaw, staring at the doors for a good ten minutes before heading towards the waiting room where he already dreaded the beginning of the godawful waiting process.

8 hours.

That's how long it took for the best med team in the country to stabilise a 15 year old kid. Eight whole hours of pulling nails out of his body, cleaning up wounds, fixing internal bleeding and patching him up. The nurse had come to reassure Tony multiple times, during each of which he was a giant asshole and demanded that they work faster. According to them, Peter's injuries were all result of the explosion, and not the fight itself. That was no surprise considering he was a very agile, very capable of taking care of himself, and very _reckless,_ young hero. Though there was no wonder that the kid hadn't been harmed during the interaction he had with the terrorists, it was still terrifying to think that he was nearly killed mere seconds after. In an explosion that could have been prevented. One that Tony Stark had ignored. One that could have killed hundreds of civilians.

"Thank you," was all the man could mumble before heading towards the boy's room, slipping into it with care as he tried not to make too much noise. Peter looked peaceful, his facial features showed no hint of any pain, but the purples and reds that decorated them told otherwise. They told the tale of how idiotic Stark had been for not paying more attention. That stupid kid had far too much sense of justice, which the billionaire hated and loved at the same time. Maybe he would have to sit down with the kid, maybe he needed to have a talk about when to back out… Or maybe he needed to _listen_ to him more.

Peter had been cleaned up, bandaged and hooked to various IV lines as well as a heart monitor. Though he looked better than he did when they wheeled him in, he still didn't look right. A kid his age should never have to go through something like that. Not when there were adults who should have acted upon their claims. The nurses had listed the teen's injuries briefly, but seeing him made it real. The nails from the bombs had pierced the youngling's lungs, empaled various bits of him and severely wounded his chest. The older hero knew of Spiderboy's healing factor, but just _how long it takes for him to heal_ didn't matter. He shouldn't _have to be healing._

" _Fuck."_ Tony ran his hands through his hair, staring at the kid for a good few seconds before throwing his sunglasses to the wall with force. He didn't even realise he was holding them until now, but he wanted to throw something. He _needed_ to break something. He could feel himself boiling, threatening to punch a hole into the wall, wanting to hurt those who had ever harmed _his kid_ in any way, shape, or form _._ Now, Tony was part of that group of people, in a way.  
"Fuck, _fuck, FUCK!"_ The cursing wouldn't stop, rage building into his chest as he stood in the room that sheltered the broken child. A child he had vowed to protect; a child he hadn't taken seriously.

With a quick pinch at the bridge of his nose, the billionaire sat by the bed, leaned over his knees as his head hung low in shame and regret. He wished the terrorists had survived just so he could kill them himself. Maybe the explosives weren't really meant for Peter specifically, but who cares? Peter was so pure, so kind, so _innocent_ in so many ways. The mere thought of the boy having gone through what he did was enough to make the grown man's eyes water. Peter shouldn't have had to go alone. He shouldn't be here; not like this. The teen's presence should be accompanied by incessant rambling, not the steady beeps of a heart monitor.

"I'm so sorry, kid."


End file.
